


Ides of March

by conceptofzero



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6290275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lucky 38 is hers, now that she's gone and brained Mr. House with a golf club and installed Yes Man on the mainframe. She sometimes almost feels a little bad for the old bastard. He made it hundreds of years, only to face her down and die at her hands. But hey. Maybe he would take some consolation in knowing that her hands also helped kill Caesar, which isn't too shabby at all for a woman who can't remember her name or anything older than three months ago. </p>
<p>(In which Boone and Courier get drunk after a hunting trip to the Fort)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ides of March

Vegas is beautiful to look at from above. Lucky 38's got the perfect place to look down on it too. That empty observation deck is great, all those windows laying out the most glorious view that nobody else in New Vegas will ever have. There's people down there with more power than her, more money than her, more clout and respect and a dozen other things that make people important out here. But none of them will ever have this. 

The Lucky 38 is hers, now that she's gone and brained Mr. House with a golf club and installed Yes Man on the mainframe. She sometimes almost feels a little bad for the old bastard. He made it hundreds of years, only to face her down and die at her hands. But hey. Maybe he would take some consolation in knowing that her hands also helped kill Caesar, which isn't too shabby at all for a woman who can't remember her name or anything older than three months ago. 

It's nice and it's all lit up on the strip. She's got a glass full of Nuka Cola and whiskey to get through and who knows how many other drinks she's had tonight, straight and mixed. Boone, that fucking sadsack, has been pounding his shots straight with nothing else. She tried to give him a mixer but he's just been drinking hard and staring out the windows. The man's not looking at Vegas, but she's not sure what he's staring at. If she got out her map, she could figure out if he's looking for Dinky off on the horizon, or if he's staring towards the NCR or what. 

But right now she doesn't want to know. Courier's already got the whole sad story out of Boone. No need for moping right now, not when they're celebrating something truly spectacular. Five hours ago, she stood in the basement and watched the securitrons reborn into something infinitely more deadly and terrifying, and she felt nothing but the purest pride bubbling up in her as she saw their primary weapons unleashed. Courier felt a little like a proud mother, assuming that's what motherhood felt like. 

She has no fucking clue what any family stuff feels like. Right now, she's mostly only mastered how it feels to be furious and then also pleased and smug, and then sorta detached. Right now, she's mostly pleased. Maybe a little introspective? 

"I need to stop thinking." She tells Boone. Then she tips back the rest of her drinks. Maybe she should get out the drugs? But what's even good to mix with this much whiskey? Ah, who fucking knows. Courier pulls herself away from the window for a moment, leaning closer to where Boone's got his ass parked on a bench. She holds out her glass, wiggling it at him. "You want to mix me a double?" 

Boone doesn't even pull his eyes away from the window. He just grunts softly. Courier wiggles her glass again, and when it gets her nowhere, she grabs a spot beside him. The cushion wheezes under her weight as she drops heavily on it and she leans right into Boone's space, too tipsy to care whose personal boundaries she's stomping right over. That finally gets a reaction from him, though it's just the turn of his head to stare at her from behind his shades.

"It's the middle of the night. You can take those off. You can't even see anything with them on." Courier tells him. She reaches up to take them off, but he grabs her hand, knocking it away. That just makes her smile more, and her hand comes up again. She doesn't go for the glasses this time, not when his hat makes a better target. Courier takes it right off his shaved head and plunks it on her own. That only gets her another sulky look. "Come on Boone, live a little. We're celebrating! We killed Caesar!"

Early this afternoon, with the sun beating down mercilessly on a decimated Legion camp, he'd been as close to happy as she'd ever seen him. He'd even managed to smile for her, even if it had been a pretty reserved smirk. Now he's back to doom and gloom again. Courier sighs when he doesn't play along and she takes the hat back off, putting it on his head again. Then she gets up and goes to fetch herself a double. 

"If you want to be alone, you can just say it. I'll fuck off. I'm sure I can find somewhere downstairs to party. Maybe at the Tops? Though- haha, fuck, I'm probably too drunk to get any weapons by them." She grins as she gives herself maybe a little more than strictly a double. That's fine. She can just drink the Nuka-Cola from the bottle instead. Though maybe she should experiment a little more with mixing the Sunsets with something else. Maybe she wouldn't mind the taste now that she's drunk enough not to care about it? "Maybe Gomorrah. Yeah, maybe them. Or the Wrangler but at this time of night, they've probably already got Fisto booked out." 

She glances back at Boone. He's standing now, still facing the window. Too much to drink for him, and for her too. But, she still fills up a glass for him and brings it over, offering it out to Boone. When he doesn't look, she nudges him, until he finally looks. 

"Here, take it. I'll clear out after this one." She says. It takes another nudge before he does take the glass. Courier heads to a nearby couch, sprawling out on it while she sips at her drink. It's eerie up here with only the emergency lights on. It means the rest of the city gets a chance to shine, so all the light around them is from the Strip, all those neons glowing away in the dark. Courier raises her glass and gives a toast (even if it's just for herself). "To New Vegas! The envy of all who lay eyes on her. And forever beyond the reach of the fascist assholes of the world." 

She drinks. Boone drinks too, tipping his glass back and draining it in one fell swoop. He handles it pretty well, only coughing slightly into the crook of his arm when he's done. She takes her time with her drink. Courier's already had plenty down the hatch. No need to rush. 

Boone finally pulls himself away from the city. He comes over to her, stopping just beside Courier and hovering there like he can't figure out what to do, or what to say. Probably both knowing him. The guy's only ever good at finding his words when he's yelling out that there's danger coming their way, or when he's expressing how disappointed he is that he isn't dead yet. 

"We should have died today." He says, which hey, now they're back to one of Boone's wheelhouses. 

"Yeah. That was a suicide run. But I guess we're both pretty bad at dying, huh?" She smiles and shrugs. There's a scar on her forehead that even Doc couldn't get rid of. At this point, she never wants it gone. Maybe Boone would be happier if he had some scar on him too, some proof that even the grave didn't want him. But, even as she's trying to think of a way to say it that isn't totally assholeish, he's sinking to his knees beside her. "Hey, Boone..." 

He stays there like that for a few moments. Then, slowly, he reaches up. He puts his hands on his glasses and takes them off, setting them on the table. Boone does the same with his hat. It's dark up here, but she can see the way his eyes shine. It's not tears, not full tears anyway, but it's something like it. The man's too full of emotion to know how to deal with it. 

"Come here." Courier says and reaches out to him. Her hands go to his shoulders. His hands settle on her, both pressing down on her stomach. Boone's tense to the touch, but when isn't he? Even while drunk, he's wound tight. She just gives him a smile, a little reassurance from her to him. "We're not dead. We'll outlive the whole Legion. You and me and all of New Vegas." 

She coaxes him in close. He's very warm. Must be all the whiskey in him. She knows she's warm too, and soft, and apparently she can even be comforting, but she doesn't know who told her that. Someone from before what her brain remembers probably. Courier draws him into a hug, deliberately ignoring the way he's still so tense as she draws his face against her stomach and lets him hide his face against her body. He'll have himself a bit of a drunk cry and pass out, and then they'll pretend it never happened. That's the plan.

What happens is: she draws him close to her stomach. Her shirt is riding up. His face presses against the part between where her shirt hem ends and her pants begin. Boone's face is a little rough, partly stubble and partly his dry skin. His mouth presses against her belly. Boone's lips part gently, softly, over her stomach, over the distant stretch marks she never lets herself remember if she can help it. Courier's hands are on his head, resting there. She's not trying to keep him in place. His mouth is against her belly and it's warm and she feels the heat of his breath blow out against her. 

It's an accident. Or. Maybe it's not entirely an accident. They've been drinking alone. Below them, on the Penthouse floor, the rest of their traveling companions are busy playing cards or listening to the radio or sleeping or doing whatever they're doing. There's no reason she and Boone couldn't have drank down there with them.

No reason, unless they both were aware they'd end up here eventually. Because they knew it, didn't they? After they killed every last man in that camp and cut the slaves free, there had been something uncertain in the air. There had been a change in the way they had interacted. Something started burning and it hasn't extinguished itself yet. It won't fizzle out alone. They need to let it burn itself out. 

Courier shifts her hands again, moving from above his shoulders to under his arms. She tugs, lifts, pulls him up to her. Boone's eyes shine like stars. His face is blank, but his eyes are wet. Courier kisses him. It's awkward, as she expected. He's like kissing stone and his lips are chapped. The skin is rough against her mouth. It's like he's been dried all the way out by the desert. 

"Fuck me," she tells him, taking her hands off Boone to start on her belt. It comes out of the loops easy, dropping to the floor. Her pants come off next, followed by her underwear. Courier leaves her shirt on though. She never likes being fully naked. Even up here, they're never really safe. 

Boone undresses himself meticulously. He takes each item off and folds it, setting on the coffee table, until he's down to nothing but his socks. Boone leaves those on and she can't help but laugh a little at how absurd he looks. Then again, she's still wearing a shirt, so she doesn't have a leg to stand on. Not that she's standing. She's lying back on the couch, thighs spread. Boone kneels between them and leans down again, pressing his mouth to her belly once more. He's not stone anymore, maybe because he doesn't have to look her in the eye. Maybe he's just more comfortable when he's not so aware he's being watched. Or maybe he just doesn't like kissing on the mouth. 

It doesn't matter which the answer is. Boone's lips slide down her belly, pausing momentarily at the marks on her. He's so chaste when he touches his mouth to the stretch marks, like he's touching his lips to a forehead, instead of the torso of a mostly naked woman. He looks up at her briefly, before his eyes snap back down again. He keeps moving south.

Boone gets himself between her thighs. There's no hesitation as he buries his face against her cunt, his fingers opening her up. He kisses her down there too, mouth parted wide, tongue sliding out to lick her. So much for chaste. Courier groans as she feels him push against her clit. She has no idea how long it's been since she was last eaten out. A long time. A very long time. And Boone's good at it too. He's so pale under the reflections of neon light, the pinks and reds and whites of Vegas playing out over his naked back and ass. Courier wraps a leg around his side and holds him close as he delves deep into her. 

Courier usually likes to talk during sex. It feels wrong to break the silence though, like her usual words might just shatter whatever this is and make Boone turn away too soon, before they've unraveled this knot that's been tied between them. And he might go, and leave her here to rub one out alone on the top floor of the Lucky 38, and Courier's had enough of doing that all by herself to last her a lifetime. So she keeps her usual thoughts to herself, and when she opens her mouth, it's only to sigh or moan. Courier's body does all the talking Boone needs to hear anyway. The man's a sniper, he knows how to read the terrain. Her body's an open book to him, thighs wide and hips rocking forward now and then to grind against his face, her heart beating fast and her breath coming quickly as he licks her clit over and over again. 

The man's methodical. Somebody taught him this. Carla, probably. They must have spent a lot of time together in bed, with Boone kneeling on the floor and her on the mattress. Everybody made it sound like she knew exactly what she liked and what she didn't like. Boone must have liked getting orders again, something nice and clear and unambiguous. Eat me out. Lick me until I'm screaming. Suck on my clit until I say otherwise. Courier smiles in the dark. Shame she never met Carla.

But if she had, Boone wouldn't be here, would he? She'd have to depend on someone else to watch her seven. 

One of his hands is holding tight to her right thigh, tilting her hips up until it's comfortable for him. The other has her cunt spread open, the fingers resting gently against her vulva. His eyes are closed as his head bobs back and forth, his tongue following his way up and down her, tasting all of her. Now and then, he latches onto her clit and sucks until she's panting and squirming, right on the edge of something else before he releases her. Courier feels the build and the fall come and go, working her closer and closer to the edge, but never letting her slip over into pleasure. 

She's been so good about holding her tongue, but on the third time up, she can't help it. "Boone, let me come or I'm going to lose it." She says, and he pauses just on the edge, leaving her squirming hard as she tries to get the right amount of friction to just hurry the fuck up and finish this time. It was the wrong thing to say but she's so desperate right now. She can hardly think straight. 

Then, finally, he takes pity on her. He puts his mouth on her clit and sucks her hard. The fingers holding her open finally slide away from her lips and over to her entrance instead, pushing in roughly. He's knuckle-deep in her, his mouth presses tight against her, and her eyes are wide open as she looks up at the reflection on the roof, Vegas' colours lighting up the night. Courier doesn't scream, but she does moan for him as she comes, her cunt clenching up tight around his fingers. All of her rational thoughts are blotted out and she feels nothing but the overwhelming fury of the orgasm. 

Fuck, it's so good. 

When her eyes slide down, she finds Boone still between her thighs, just crouched there. His chin is resting just on the bottom of her belly. His mouth is so wet from her. She just wants to lick her way straight inside of it. Courier struggles to sit up, just so she can get a hold of him to pull up and onto her. 

He's still terrible at kissing. Somehow, he might actually be worse at it, even after eating her out. Boone's hard though, his cock pressing up against her belly. She gives up on kissing him since he can't do it to save his life, and she just gets a hand on him instead, stroking his cock. "What do you want?" She asks, swiping her tongue along the corner of his mouth. The taste of herself is all over him. "What do you want me to do for you? Do you want to be inside of me? Do you want me to suck you off? Come on Boone, what do you want?" 

Boone's quiet, huffing softly like she's asking him something inconvenient instead of just asking how he wants to come. His face shys away from hers when she leans in again, ducking to the side. Whatever he wants, he doesn't seem to have the words to just ask for it. Instead, he's hunched in front of her, his cock starting to soften a little in her hand, even as she strokes him. 

"Do you want me to decide for you?" She asks. It's so dim in here and he's so pale, all the neon lights playing out over him like he's a perfect canvas. There's a little colour there though, the only indication she's got from him that she's on the right track. Carla must have bossed him around too. Maybe that's why he was so eager to follow the Courier, and why it took so little to talk him into coming along with her. He was desperate to have someone tell him what to do and how to live. 

And that's how he's gotten stuck with her. Poor, poor bastard. 

She rearranges them, awkwardly moving their bodies until she manages to push him down onto the couch. Courier straddles Boone, perching herself up on his thighs. One hand stays on his chest, pinning him down. The other rests on his right thigh, grazing her fingernails along the inner flesh there. "Close your eyes." She tells him and he does just that, the shine on his face giving way to darkness as his eyes go shut. Good. Perfect. She runs her nails up and down the flesh, scraping lightly over the tender parts. Ah... there he goes. There's his cock reacting again, getting some spring back into it. 

Her thighs are still twitching idly now and then. They're not aftershocks exactly, but they can't seem to stop. Her cunt feels tender in the best possible way. Courier lets her nails slide away from his thighs, over to his balls and cock. He's very warm to the touch. And he'd probably feel good inside of her... 

But he's a man, not a bot, and she knows he's fertile. Her own status is more questionable, but she's got enough proof to suggest she's certainly capable of carrying life. Courier's got a condom on her but it's in her pants, and that isn't even a guarantee anyway. So, that makes the decision easy, even if part of her's tempted to make another bad decision today. The luck's going to run out sometime. 

So, she stays where she's sitting and ignores the way her cunt tries to clench around something that isn't there when she looks at his cock. She's barely rubbing her fingertips over him but he's hard, as hard as he was when he was eating her out. He likes this so much. Courier chews on her lip lightly and watches him react. Boone's breathing goes from soft and shallow to strained pretty quickly, his face twisting up when she gives him a scratch or two. Those eyes stay closed. Maybe he's imagining Carla, but good luck if so. Courier's nails are too short to be anything nice, and just long enough that she knows she needs to trim them soon. Good thing she was too lazy to do that just yet though. 

Up and down her hand goes, the fingernails giving way to the grip of her hand. There’s a little precum leaking out of him and she’s quick to rub her palm over it, smearing it around until it’s easier to stroke him. Her other hand stays on his chest, feeling the way it pulls in air faster and faster. The man’s a sniper through and through though, because even as he’s nearly panting, he’s still got his breaths coming in and out like clockwork. She could probably put a rifle in his hands and he’d still be able to make the shot right now, even with her hand on him. 

Boone’s fairly easy to read like this and she gets a front row seat to watching his face quake and his body tremble as he comes near the edge. She’s tempted to tease him too, to coax him right to the edge and to back away just before he can come. Except she can feel how fragile everything is. If she pushes the wrong way, she’ll just break him to pieces and never be able to put him back together. They did something today that should have killed them both and it’s all been strange and impossible since that moment. 

She slides her hand to the base of his cock and squeezes on the way back up. His mouth falls open and he lets out such a soft sound - a name well-used to being cried out quietly so no one else but his partner could hear him. All of him is wound tight as he comes, his body arching up under her. He’s between her thighs and it’s too much to resist when her cunt’s throbbing at the sight of him. Courier yanks her hand off Boone’s chest and shoves it between her thighs, fumbling with her clit. Her eyes are locked onto the redness of him as she rocks down hard against her fingers, trying desperately to get off one more time. Boone’s cock twitches hard in the palm of her hand as he comes on his belly. She strokes him through it, strokes him past it, until he’s twisting under her. It has to hurt, but he doesn’t reach for her to stop her. He doesn’t ask her to stop either. The look on his face is torn between pleasure and pain. 

Courier’s second orgasm is smaller than the first by a large margin, a small pop compared to the blast that hit her before. But it still feels good when her thighs slam shut around her hand and she feels that good burst of feel-good flood through her system again. She’s sore and she stops soon as she’s come, not wanting to push herself too far. Her hands are both wet - one from her cunt, the other from what’s dripped from his cock. She finally stops stroking him and he sags down on the couch, panting loudly. So much for his breathing. He couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn like this.

She leans back against the other arm of the couch, her legs sprawling over his. Fuck. That was good. That was exactly what she needed. And judging from the way his eyes are still closed, it was what Boone needed too. 

Courier doesn’t wait long before she’s wiping her hands off on the couch cushions and grabbing her pants off the floor. She shoves them back on and shifts away from the couch, over to the one on the other side. Boone stays where he’s lying. She supposes she could curl in beside him… 

But she’ll sleep better over here. Courier settles on the cushions and looks up at the ceiling. It’s late. Even New Vegas is feeling the time. There’s less lights on now. And when she wakes up in the morning, there’s going to be too much light. 

Tomorrow will be back to normal. She knows it in her bones. Boone will lie there and sleep, and when morning comes, he’ll dress himself and wait for orders from her. They won’t ever speak about this part of it, because they won’t need to. They’ve both gotten what they needed - a chance to burn away the strangeness of this brand new world. 

In the morning, they’ll wash up and head back out into the Mohave. They killed Caesar, but there’s a war coming still. There’s still Legion camps to hit, and plenty of bullets they’ve promised to put between the eyes of every slaving asshole between here and California.


End file.
